Honey Bee
by Rianne
Summary: Written for the Geekfiction 2009 Valentine's Ficathon! Happy Hearts Day!


**Title: **Honey Bee.

**Author: **Rianne

**Smutathon Prompt :** Vanilla

**Rating: **M. (It's there – just keep reading!)

**Summary: **Bees do it… Even educated CSI's do it. Let's do it... Let's fall in love...

**Length:** Long, long, long, long, long…. If it's written by me you should never expect short, you'll always be disappointed.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them, but I would be very pleased to, especially if they really get up to things like this…

**Author Notes:** Awwww this thing just about drove me crazy!!

And it may border closer to fluffy smut than dirty smut… but in my defence I did choose sugar!

Written for 2009's Geekfiction Smutathon!

Happy Valentine's Day!!

**-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

_**Honey Bee.**_

By Rianne.

Humming.

She'd been humming for days.

Ever since she had donned that ridiculous beekeeper outfit.

Ever since he had said those words.

Completely out of nowhere.

"You know, maybe we should get married."

Her chest had swelled with her gasp of surprise.

Her heart growing so big.

Heat flooding her cheeks.

She'd never expected that.

She'd never even wanted it.

Until that moment.

Until she watched, awed, the way he had gently scraped away the errant and distracting stinger.

Until she felt how gently her fingers were cradled in his, like she was precious to him and he blamed himself because she was wounded.

Until she looked up and into his face and saw just how serious he was.

Saw the determination. Saw the conviction.

Saw what the future could be right there in his eyes.

He wanted this. Really wanted it.

And she did too.

"Yes. Let's do it."

Humming.

It wasn't quite singing in the Lab again, or anything like that, but it was a good step on the way to getting back there.

o0o0o0o0o0o

His warm gaze met hers from across the darkened crime scene.

His breath catching as for a hearts beat moment the present fluttered overlaid with the glowing mirage of another time.

Unless it was his eyes playing tricks on him with the shadows.

Or his brain unable to process the fact that she had actually said yes!

That he had actually been brave enough to ask her.

But for a single flickering moment she was right there before him, dressed once again in that ridiculous beekeeper costume, her eyes wide and glittering, and her delighted smile beaming up at him from behind the haze of netting.

With another blink the image was gone, but their loaded gaze remained.

And from the look reflected back at him, she knew precisely what he was thinking.

Those gorgeous glowing eyes of hers joyful in the low beam of the flashlight.

And more to the point he knew that she was thinking about exactly the same thing as he was, knew even from across the chasm of dark room between them.

They were engaged!

How in the world?!

The connection lingered a moment longer, pleasant thoughts wavering between them, both of them smiling, before their gazes dropped simultaneously, suddenly shy.

But their smiles remained, pleasure warming their bellies as they continued processing the room around them.

It was only then, as his mind wandered whilst he was investigating the evidence again, that he began to wonder if there hadn't been something more to that look.

Something much more mischievous in glinting in the chocolate depths.

And added to that…

She was humming.

Dusting the closet door for fingerprints and humming happily away to herself.

That usually meant something good.

She used to hum as she made her favourite food, lounged lazily in his bathtub, took her time in choosing a title to read from his vast collection of books.

He couldn't remember the last time he had heard her do that.

He missed it.

God he'd missed all of this.

Missed working with her.

Missed her presence at crime scenes.

Missed her inherent caring and her support and the understanding that only came from sharing the experience.

He hadn't realised just how much he had come to rely on it until it hadn't been there anymore.

And he certainly hadn't wanted to come home and burden her with his tales of woe.

He didn't want it to encroach on the already far too short moments they got to spend together.

So they had grown quieter.

He missed her.

Missed sharing a bed with her every day and waking in her arms.

Missed seeing her by his side every night.

Missed her being a sight for sore eyes in the break room every evening, awaiting her next assignment, joking with the guys.

Missed those long ago days before the desert, before he had opened his mouth and told the truth without thinking and everyone had found out and their world had changed.

He missed the days when their personal life had been theirs and theirs alone.

He had never thought back then that he would miss the days when their lives were split into two.

It had been so hard to keep on top of all the divisions.

To watch his words, and his actions.

Home and work.

Private and public.

Love and freedom, restraint and self-control.

Not that there had ever been that clear a distinction, when looked at under the gleam of hindsight.

Many a time the lines between them had blurred seamlessly.

Physically, mentally, intellectually, erotically.

But them working together tonight had been a genuine surprise.

Being with her was always a good surprise of course, but tonight it was a somewhat infuriating one too.

It should have been his night off.

He had gone to bed as she had left for the day, his brain abuzz with ideas, plans and fantasies to consider as entertainment for their time alone together later.

Plotting all the wonderful ways he could welcome her home.

He should have remembered that quote about the best-laid plans…

Things never went smoothly however hard you tried to be organised.

Especially when he had woken up late, much later than he had intended.

Panicking he had stumbled blindly about grasping, shuffling and strategically placing, his mind working a mile a minute.

He was damn lucky that there had been just enough time left over for him to quickly scramble into the shower.

Hearing her car pulling into the drive as she arrived home from her shift he had fretted around their home distractedly, wanting to be certain he was ready.

He'd wanted everything to be perfect.

Well as perfect as he could make it anyway.

It was the first time that either of them had been off together in a good long while.

Since her move to Swing shift their whole existence had changed.

They had done their best to keep it all balanced, but they were struggling.

Sometimes it felt like they were bobbing just above water.

And he hated that.

He was ready to do anything to try and set them back on track and tonight had offered up a great opportunity.

He had the night off; she'd called him to let him know she was heading home on time.

That call had been what had awoken him.

Tonight was important; he'd wanted it to be special.

Tonight was the first night off together since she had said, "Yes!"

He had been looking forward to it all week.

His fiancée. She was actually his fiancée.

Him.

His.

A man who completely disagreed with the idea of possession when applied to human beings.

But a man who also felt the dichotomy of being completely excited about the whole idea too.

Of belonging with someone else.

Marriage, a life together, the good kind of commitment.

(Not the one that involved men in white coats.)

Him, man who had confirmed bachelor stamped on his head at birth.

Man who even his own mother had given up on.

Engaged.

Excited about it.

And no one else knew.

It was their delicious secret.

And for the first time in his life he had wanted to shout from the rooftops.

He had wanted to celebrate.

To find some way to show her exactly how he felt inside.

He had hoped to be able to tonight.

To make them a memory.

Then the key had been turning in the lock.

Suddenly feeling stupid, he had panicked all over again that this was ridiculous, but there was no going back now.

Hank had already scrambled up, doggy paws scattering across the floor as he rushed over to snuffle against her in welcome.

She had stepped through the door looking tired, but he had literally seen her energy levels perk when she had looked up from their pestering pooch to find him standing there.

To find she was expected, waited for, loved.

To find him standing there, right in the middle of their living room, in full beekeeper uniform, deep blue forensics suit, headgear, hat, and a huge geeky smile plastered across his face.

Perfect.

She'd gasped.

Then her body had started to shake, at first with her disbelief her head swaying from side to side in amazement, then when she could control it no longer, she'd doubled over and was suddenly laughing. Laughing so hard that tears were blooming, sliding down her cheeks, down her nose.

One hand came up to cover half her face, peering through her fingers, the other encircling her waist, as the laughter tugged at muscles she'd sadly had felt no need to use for a while.

Her deep husky laugh had reverberated beautifully off the walls, stirring Hank into a frenzy.

"I thought we could carry on where we left off." He had suggested, laughing himself now.

Bending too, he had dipped his gaze level with hers, proud to have made her happy.

Then she had been moving towards him, tearing off his beekeeper mask, the material and his silly straw hat falling to the floor, but he barely saw it.

Rid of the barrier, the disguise.

Just the two of them, and Hank of course.

All he saw was her.

She was so…

So…

There wasn't the time to speak before they were falling, tumbling into light sweet kisses, and the warm curl of arms.

The meal he'd been preparing for them had simmered away forgotten, as he'd poured the nervous tension that had built as he'd waited into his kisses. Hands cupping her face, thumbs stroking away the trails of her happy tears.

Feeling her surrender gladly to him he'd walked her back against the wall, not stopping until her warm soft body bumped back against his, her head tilting back on her shoulders to lean back against the brick obstruction, protected and supported by his gentle palms.

He had longed to tear the off the awkward, crinkly outfit, but instead he increased the enticing pressure of his warming body against hers, unable to relinquish her for even a second, as their touch began straying wickedly, intimately, heart rates doubling, then tripling as the temperature grew.

Mouths open and hot, her fingers tight in his curls.

Hank dancing behind him whining confused as to why they always left him out of these kinds of games.

Then his cell phone had rung.

She'd made a lovely husky noise of annoyance, echoing the sound out into his mouth.

Then hers had rung too.

The conflicting ringing tangling in a chaotic symphony.

They'd tried to ignore it.

Tried really, really hard.

But it just hadn't quit.

Their lips had torn apart, and he'd heard the breath growl out of her, hot against his skin.

Her dark eyes had been stormy and irritated and wild.

He'd seen and recognised his own impulse clear as day in her expression, a violent urge to send the offending objects right out their second storey window.

But with a joint sigh, and moment of steadying gasps of breath they'd managed to answer without sounding like they'd run a thousand miles.

Catherine for him.

And for Sara, Ecklie.

She was always the lucky girl.

Night shift was swamped, and the criminals were having a field day.

Just his luck.

Just their luck.

Right back to work.

They had arrived at the scene together, no longer bothering with the pretence of coming in two cars.

Catherine had headed them off at the entrance, on her way out to yet another call out. A 419 this time.

She had briefed them on the case, a simple 'smash and grab' home burglary, victim was away on vacation, and a neighbour had seen the giant hole in the window when they had returned home from work, calling the cops when they'd realised half the house had been trashed.

He had been somewhat condescendingly told that they'd been given the easy case, seen as it was supposed to be his night off.

Some night off.

Then Catherine's phone had been chirping on her hip and she'd headed off again with a sigh, but not before she gave in to the temptation she and everyone else seemed to be unable to resist lately.

Playing with them.

They all had something to say these days. Something of a more personal nature.

It was becoming painfully clear just how upset some people were about having been kept in the dark about the changed nature of his relationship with Sara. And it seemed their colleagues' general response to that had been less than mature. There had been rather a lot of supposedly amusing teasing and in some cases mock sulking because they had all completely missed the signs.

But that certainly hadn't given them an excuse to say some of the things they had.

And Catherine Willows had so far been the worst culprit.

Never shy at the best of times she was always making some sort of reference to their being together, or affairs, or Sara's genuine favourite 'fishing off the company pier.'

It was always done in jest, but lately, lately it was growing really tired, it had been happening every time that he and Sara had been in the same room together, and the barbs had come from all sorts of culprits.

He knew that it was just their own special way of letting him and Sara know that they accepted their relationship, were happy for them, but they really needed a new piece of gossip, or some drama in their own lives.

Tonight Catherine actually had the nerve to call back over her shoulder as she departed, swaying away.

Actually had the balls to warn them to behave themselves with a smile and a lascivious wink.

As if that made up for her being in completely frustrated oblivion about their two-year relationship.

And more insultingly, as if they had ever behaved in appropriately at a crime scene!

They had been left standing side by side in Catherine's wake, a frown on his face, which only deepened as he picked up on the tension that had rippled through Sara as she fought to hold back her instinctive grimace at Catherine's words.

Clearly Sara too had reached her statute of limitations on this whole grin and bare it with humour reaction they had agreed upon.

The stress radiating from Sara's body was angry hot as she fought to control the lashing vitriolic response, which no doubt was rattling about noisily in that pretty head of hers.

And that made him feel even worse.

They had been disappointed yet again. Cancelled plans, disrupted evening, and annoying colleagues.

They deserved more respect than this.

They had earned it.

But still, together, they managed to find the strength enough to rise above.

With a gentle, calming hand stroke to the small of her back he had eased them forwards.

Into the darkness, flashlights as their guide.

They'd just have to channel all that frustration into their work like good little CSI's.

So yeah, this was hardly the romantic evening he'd planned for them. But hey, at least they were together.

o0o0o0o0o0o

In last few months things had slowly been getting better for her.

Her life had been changed indelibly since the desert.

There was no disguising that.

She had lived through undeserved hell.

Twice in her life in fact.

But she had survived again.

Was picking up the pieces. Reforming again. Restructuring her life.

More sure of what she wanted and what was important than she had ever been.

But also more lost, more confused, more blindsided by the array of choices that lay before her.

Another new start. Only this time she didn't have to do it on her own.

Grissom was there.

She was back at work, her bones healing slowly, her strength returning, the scrapes to her skin now finally disguisable under light make up.

But there was nothing more challenging than changing an insomniac's body clock.

Her rhythms were all way off.

Her workdays seemed so much longer now that she was on Swing shift.

Days gilded with sunlight. Fading with ease into the neon glow of early evening.

Her crime scenes now companioned by the effervescent Ronnie and her questions.

A young woman so different to her current self.

A woman who in turns drove her crazy with her enthusiasm, and in darker turns twisted her belly with threads of jealousy at what she saw in the new recruit that she herself had lost.

Gone were the days where she was one of the guys. One of the boys.

They all loved her still. She didn't doubt that.

But she saw them less. A lot less.

And when she did they were different towards her.

More gentle.

More cautious.

A faint awkwardness in their eyes.

Worried about the long-term effects of trauma.

Overly conscious of her relationship with Grissom.

Painfully aware of their own lacking investigational skills which had allowed them to be so easily fooled by two of their closest friends for as long as they had.

It was like the cloud in the room.

It was in the way that their eyes flickered between her and Grissom any time they were in a room together, looking for any signs that they could have missed.

It was in the teasing comments and remarks, the laugher in their voices, twisting the tones to uncomfortable and taking away snatches from the humour.

They treated her as if she was a little more fragile. Checking up on how she was feeling, physically, emotionally.

She didn't want to constantly be reminded that things were different now.

That her private life had been thoroughly and humiliatingly exposed.

That she and Grissom had both had to endure serious interrogation and investigation.

Private details of their existences poked and prodded by Ecklie no less.

It turned her stomach to think about it.

To think how much it had pained her to be civil and calm and polite as that weasel had used words like 'intimate' and left her skin crawling in a way that had made her feel dirty all over.

Left her feeling helpless and defenceless.

Just what she had fought not to be any longer.

Just what she had trained to be a CSI to prevent.

Those two fears she had forced herself not give into as she had fought herself out from under that car and forced her legs forwards step by step across the desolate heat of the desert towards rescue.

So to have regulations, hypocrites and circumstance snatch that away from her had been hard to swallow.

It was frustrating.

That irritation building higher and higher.

With no sign of reaching an end.

But that wasn't the hardest thing she had been forced to endure.

Oh no.

The hardest thing was that she and Grissom could no longer work together.

It was always going to be the hardest thing.

Even if she had been the one who had volunteered, the one who had moved so that he didn't have to.

To make sure there was less disruption to everyone else on the team.

It was never going to be easy. Nothing in her life ever seemed destined to be easy.

But the chance of separation had always been that banal and distant threat.

That hazy fear on the very furthest horizon from the moment their lips had first met and their relationship had finally shifted for the better.

But distance had dulled its power over them.

Right up until it was upon them all at once.

Right up until that hammer of behavioural policy had slammed down between them.

They were breaking regulations.

It seemed that was all that mattered to the powers that be.

That they were breaking the rules made by the same people who had hired a monster to work on their janitorial staff.

Who had welcomed that horror into her once safe inner world, who had unwittingly allowed it loose on her life.

The people partly to blame for the tearing away her newly gained safety and clearer sense of self.

And now because of their bad decision making skills they could no longer work together.

All their previous work related issues had been put under the microscope once again.

An executive decision had been made.

They couldn't work together and the reality of that broke her heart more than she could ever have expected.

Yet Grissom had managed to find the good in it.

Managed to convince her that it gave her a chance to grow.

To spread her wings.

To teach others with glimpses of the knowledge that he had imparted to her over the years.

Knowledge he liked to remind her that she had always parroted back to him and it might be nice for her to find a new audience.

To show that she was a damn good CSI all on her own.

And she had finally begun to believe that she was.

Finally begun to find her place as a teacher, as a guiding force, as a confidant and possessor of knowledge.

But she missed it. Missed him.

Missed working with someone who knew her rhythms and techniques.

Missed the comfort of having someone there who understood her.

Someone who was as sharp and on the mark as she was.

And she missed the way they could always just instinctively bounce off one another.

Although that talent had spread out into other certainly much more interesting, pleasurable and satisfying areas of their lives.

But lately…

Their time together was painfully short. Bare snatches between shifts, her arriving home tired to find him stirring awake for the night. It left very little time to just be together. And even less time to actually get bare!

Tiredness, meaningless tasks like laundry, paying bills, and sleeping alone all seemed to get in the way.

So few and far between were the scant hours where their time crossed paths and they were able to remember that they shared a home, a dog, and some semblance of a life together, that she began to wonder if she had almost forgotten what had been like to be with him.

She missed the small things the most.

Waking to feel the brush of his lips against her shoulder or her cheek. The way he looked emerging from the shower, beads of water still in his curls. She missed curling up to wait for sleep with him. Those lovely moments of slow caresses and snuggling tangled in their warm quilt. Missed finally managing to fall asleep in his arms, sharing a meal at the end of a shift, taking their dog for long walks hand in hand.

They were adjusting. Reluctantly.

They had started to leave work at the end of shift. On time.

Had started to take on less overtime when they really didn't feel the case warranted it.

But that was always a difficult decision to make. How dare they put their own life before a victims.

There had to be a line.

But their inherent goodness and old habits dying hard had impacted their already dwindling personal life.

That and the after effects of her time in the desert.

The nightmares, on both their parts, her hospital stay, his fears about leaving her alone and never seeing her again, that he had tried to hide and been painfully awkwardly obvious about.

Her injuries.

Her sore and battered body had been slow to heal, so that had put paid to plans.

The mind had been willing, but the remaining limbs and body had been tired and had longed for nothing more than cuddles and rest.

But absence was actually making the heart grow a little fonder.

And now that she was almost completely healed, there was a new and exciting tension in the air between then that was definitely spicing up any time they were together. Alone or not!

Since they had reached this crime scene tonight every time she'd turn towards him, either with intent, or just by chance, she had found that he was watching her and that look he gave made her lower belly sweeten in a cringe.

It was a little embarrassing but she hadn't felt this heated since her teenage years, when she had first discovered what this rush of attraction and desire was all about.

The slightest brush was enough to get her going right now.

Her hormones were percolating and on alert all the time.

And the worst thing was that he knew it. And he was driving her crazy.

But he had such a way about him, such a newly revived humorous and adventurous, teasing side that she couldn't be mad at him.

Or herself.

So far tonight she had dusted the same small square of door before her about ten times.

The sexual tension was officially turning her brain to mush.

Hell, after that stunt he had pulled when she had arrived home tonight she just considered herself damn lucky to have been able to think clearly for as long as she had.

Walking into their home after shift to find him trussed up in full beekeeping regalia had been the funniest, sweetest, stupidest sight, the most frivolous and romantic thing anyone had ever done for her.

You certainly couldn't say their sex life lacked imagination!

She should have known that was a fetish of his when he had first seen her in the matching get up and had told her he 'loved it when she dressed up!'

It certainly wasn't the outfit that had her so distracted, but the man under it was everything she'd ever dreamed of in moments like that!

He was currently very lucky, or perhaps terribly unlucky, that she was able to restrain herself right now, _so there_ Catherine Willows, and had not, at least not yet, hauled him back to the SUV and raced him home at 100 miles an hour!

Because God, she wanted too.

But she had to be professional right now.

To put her CSI head on those crazy smitten woman shoulders.

She was a grown woman. She had learnt self-discipline.

Patience.

Trust.

Self-control, and art of loosing it!

Maturity.

Discovered that there were certainly a lot of benefits in learning to read your partner.

To being in a relationship for longer than a few weeks, which had been her somewhat pathetic last attempt.

There was also something to be said for being slightly older.

A whole lot more relaxed in your own skin.

Something to be said for endurance, anticipation, lingering, waiting…

Waiting as the tension simmered and built.

When she looked at tonight's misfortune that way she had to admit that maybe she was actually starting to enjoy herself.

Enjoying testing her famously short patience.

It was rewarding, added weight to every glance and there would certainly be a very good recompense at the end, a very pleasant prize for her patient endeavours.

Warm arms, hot kisses, strong exploring fingers, leading to deep and sweeter deeds.

She forced herself to think of something else as a lone throb made its way down between her crouched legs.

Taking a slow breath she stood up, flicking her glance to him and the perfect display of his behind as he examined something across from her.

Oh God that was not helping!

Focus.

CSI Sidle.

Eventually this crime scene would be processed and there might just be a small scrap of time left for them to be together as they'd planned to be.

Until then she would just have to deal with the build up.

Even if it was driving her to distraction.

She had waited before. They both had.

She had waited years for him to finally see and return the light in her eyes.

But she hadn't truly appreciated what she was missing until she'd tasted it.

So when they had been forced to abstain much more recently, and wait until she had been almost fully healed before they had made love again, it had been an extremely testing few weeks between them.

They had intended to wait until she had been fully healed, but it had been a very long wait.

A good few weeks.

Long agonising, tempting, weeks filled with lustful glances.

They were mere mortals after all.

Mere mortals who had endured hell and were desperate to prove to the other that they were alive and well and stronger than anything.

Her ribs had been painfully sore, for so long that the slightest brush of her clothes had waved pain; the cast had still weighted her arm, her shoulders aching with the burden under the sling.

God she had been glad to get rid of that damn itchy thing. It had driven her crazy. Gil had taken away all the long and thin implements she had tried to slide under the plaster to relieve the irritation and she had scowled at him.

Discomfort having made her irritable and grumpy and she had bitten her lip many times to prevent lashing out at him. She loved him so much, but there had been times when his caring had touched on condescending.

They had bickered. Needless fallings out that on her part had often ended in self-pitying tears and had been eventually soothed by warm, slightly awkward, definitely flustered, but apologetic arms.

The desert had changed things between them, made them cautious and desperate to be around one another in equal measures.

He had been so afraid to touch her in any way when she had first woken up in that frightening and sterile ICU room.

She'd been in pain, panicky, exhausted, confused and all she'd wanted was comfort.

She'd opened her eyes to meet his, seeing his anxiety, elation, relief, but also his fear.

That fear glittering in his eyes had betrayed his worry that he might hurt her if he acted on the desperate impulses he felt to cling to her, and that look had upset her more than anything.

But once her doctors had started saying good things, and her cast had been sawn off and her mood had lifted he had started to touch her more.

Kiss her more; hold her tighter without worrying about the effects of his affections.

Her arm was still weak, but it was getting more and more mobile as the days passed.

Their affections had blossomed.

And when they had finally been ready to make love again it had been unbelievable.

So powerful between them.

The best it had ever been.

It sounded so stupid to describe it like that.

But it had blown her away.

_He_ had blown her away with his tenderness, with his love, with his passion for her.

With his thoughtfulness.

He had gone out and bought pillows, lots of pillows, plush and soft to cushion them.

He had been so overly serious about it that she hadn't wanted to break his heart by telling him they weren't necessary, or by pointing out that compared to the hospital bed their bed was like sleeping on a fluffy cloud.

So she had held her tongue and let his affectionate concern wash over her.

She had watched bemused from the bathroom doorway as he had fussed about their bed, changing his mind again and again until he was satisfied with those damn pillows arranged along the centre of the bed sweeping up towards the headboard in a triangle of softness.

Arranged so that they could gradually recline against them.

Then he had turned to her, hot gaze sweeping over her and had turned that unwavering concentration onto her and pillows had been the last damn things on her mind.

Eventually he had lain on his back, angling against the cushions so that he was almost sitting upright, just with the more than pleasant bonus of being able to relax supported.

Then he had carefully guided her on top of him, not wanting to contain her.

She had been smothered enough.

He had opened his arms to her, offering the opportunity to encourage his affection if she wanted it, or simply giving her the option to work out her tensions and her demons if she couldn't face being enclosed like that.

He fought to hide it, but she could see how much that selfless gesture pained him, saw how much he wanted to enclose her tight in his arms and never let her go.

But he still offered. That was how much he loved her. How much he wanted only to be with her, anyway he could, anyway that would make her happy.

Offering her understanding without even saying a word.

But she had wanted his touch.

Needed it so desperately to soothe her restless soul.

His heavy, strong arms around her back, always moving, stroking, gliding, warming, polishing her skin.

Cradling, worshiping, loving, relaxing.

Face to face.

Nose to nose.

Loosing herself in the love in his eyes.

She had expected them to be awkward, clumsy, and uncertain.

But they were none of those things.

As they clung to each other, rocking breathlessly in motion it had been simply overwhelming, heartbreaking, life affirming, and since then it had just been getting better and better.

Nothing like a near death experience to enhance your love life!

It didn't fix anything.

The problems she had still loomed at the edges of the dark.

But being with Grissom, with Gil, was the best thing she had ever known to ease the weight of that darkness.

Love. She was loved.

The darkness had always been there, maybe always would.

But love. Grissom's love. Kept the ghosts at bay.

o0o0o0o0o0o

"Gris?"

He responded with a low hum, his attention focused on the broken lock on the bedroom cabinet before him.

Then instead of turning to face her he suddenly froze in place.

His head cocked to the side.

His eyes darting about.

Then it had happened before she could even stop him.

Before she could even point out that there might be error in his judgement.

Or ask him what the hell he thought he was playing at.

There was no opportunity to suggest that they didn't need to prove Catherine wrong by misbehaving at this very scene, right this second.

Or even ask if he actually suspected that they were in some kind of actual danger or under threat.

She'd not even had the chance to give voice to the giddy and downright girlish squeal that had surged up from her belly.

Oh no.

She'd had no chance.

His big hot hands had encircled her.

One across her lips before she could as much as gasp.

One tight and possessive about her hips.

He'd practically lifted her.

Hauling her backwards to what he obviously considered the safety of the closet.

She didn't even have time to fight him.

And she could take him any day.

With one hand behind her back.

What was he thinking?!

Wrestling her into the darkened shelter he'd drawn the slatted doors closed to conceal them.

The feel of soft hanging clothing brushed against her bared arms as he burrowed them backwards.

The weight of his hand against her lips preventing her from breathing properly, making her head spin.

She was lucky the examination he had been doing hadn't required him to wear gloves yet, or she would have probably been gassed by the overwhelming scent of latex too.

"There's someone out there." He growled, brokenly, his voice cracking, his breath boiling hot right against her ear and suddenly she got it.

This wasn't a joke. He wasn't dragging her into a small-enclosed space as a nice way to add even more spice to their newly revived sensual life.

There was no gleeful look like the one he had given her when he'd stood dressed like the honey man in their living room.

Not that she had even had a moment to read his expression before her feet had been literally dragged out from under her.

But she could certainly read his body language now.

His whole body was tense; his heart was pounding against the wall of his chest where his front pressed to her back.

He was terrified.

This was Holly Gribbs being attacked and subsequently killed at a crime scene.

This was Nick being kidnapped by Walter Gordon.

This was Natalie burying her under a car in the desert.

All over again.

Alone at the deserted crime scene.

Just like they shouldn't be, again.

The officer outside had stayed in his car, had waved them away.

They were supposed to be in the house alone.

But he was right.

There was someone out there.

Her brain was now finally catching up.

They could seriously be in danger here.

There were footsteps heading in their direction.

She felt his protective hold tighten. Bracing himself to defend.

Curving his body flush to hers.

The loom of him a comforting pressure.

The footsteps were really close now.

They were both holding their breath.

Both wishing that they had at least brought one gun between them.

His fingertips were gripping her hip so brutally she'd probably have bruises.

Through the slats in the door and the dim moonlight they saw a man enter the bedroom.

Tall, with dark hair, dark clothes.

Had the burglar returned to the crime scene?

She felt like she was watching the scene unfold in slow motion.

Were these to be some of her last moments?

Then the figure turned.

Oh God.

The wind burst out of her sails as he face fell forwards.

She could have kicked him.

Really, really, kicked him.

Kicked her lover, partner, fiancée.

Really, really hard.

And she really would when they got out of this.

The big scary burglar they were hiding from…

It was Nick.

They were hiding from Nick.

This was so not funny.

Not funny at all.

And now they were trapped.

She felt him sag behind her as he too saw what she did, realised what she did.

His tight grip loosening, his hand falling away from her lips, loosening his brutal hold on her hip leaving the ghost of his pressure behind.

His face fell relieved into the curve of her neck, his lips and nose brushing warm air against the sensitive and bare skin he found there.

His chest was shaking lightly.

He was laughing.

Or at least he was fighting very hard not to laugh.

She was going to kill him.

And to make matters a million times worse they were really stuck there.

Stuck in that small space.

Where they could only watch, helpless voyeurs behind the slats of the closet door, as they saw Warrick and Greg appear, stepping into the bedroom to meet up with Nick.

They could do nothing but wait.

Wait and listen.

She sensed him bite back even more laughter as they heard Greg ask Nick if he had seen Grissom.

And then listened to Warrick say, shaking his head, that Catherine had sent him over there to help out Grissom and Sara with their processing as he'd closed his own case.

Heard Nick say he'd had a similar call.

Trapped. They were trapped.

No excuse in the world was going to explain their miraculous emergence from the 'closet' so to speak.

There had been more than enough 'outing' of their relationship lately.

She felt the warm chest of the genius behind her start to rumble again, fighting his laughter once more as Nick asked the others where they thought Sara and Grissom could have got to.

Greg's 'don't be dumb leer' in response to Nick's question twisted her stomach and pursed her lips in indignation.

Pervert.

Then she found herself having to bite her lower lip, pained to call him a friend, as she heard the way that he suggested that she and Grissom had snuck away together somewhere.

The words themselves were innocuous, he'd definitely said worse to her face before now.

But the tone…

The tone and the movement of his eyebrows were more than clearly insinuating.

Warrick was laughing too now, shaking his head in dismay.

"Nah, not those two! They would never ditch their beloved work to get it on."

She wasn't sure how she rated Warrick right now; he might still have the odd lifeline left.

But his ice was cracking.

It was so wrong that they were talking about them like this.

So wrong that they had to be a captive audience to something they really, clearly didn't need to hear.

She felt the sudden urge to cover her ears and encourage Grissom to do so too.

But behind her she could still feel his chest jerking, his breath huffing in time.

He was snickering.

He thought this was highly amusing.

Just you wait buster. Just you wait.

"I don't know you guys," Nick was speaking again, and she suddenly dreaded what was coming next.

"We just can't say that anymore. Those two have been keepin' some pretty big secrets lately."

Greg's head was nodding.

Sara's smile spread.

Okay, so maybe that was true.

Warrick sighed in acceptance of Nick's point, "Yeah, they sure managed to pull the blanket out from under us."

But Greg shook his head at Warrick's idea, as he swept the room with his flashlight.

Oh God! She froze as she suddenly remembered something.

Their forensics kits!

They were still out there, hers by the side of the bedroom cabinet she had been dusting, Grissom's at the side of the bed.

How were these three idiots missing them!

I mean it was lucky for her and Grissom, but come on!

"I don't know. Sara's never made any secret of how much she adores him." Greg added his voice lowering as if he was admitting to a secret.

Behind her she felt Grissom respond to the sentiment. His warm, strong arms sliding back around her waist, squeezing her lightly, with affection this time.

She relaxed some, leaning back into his touch; she could always kill him later…

"And Grissom…" Greg continued tilting his head to the side as he thought out loud, "the guy never has been one for being too open about how he feels, but we've always known that Sara was special to him."

She felt Gil stir again behind her, felt him lean down to press a light kiss to her sensitive skin where shoulder meets neck. Confirming Greg's words the only way he could right now.

The brush of his lips sent a very intimate shiver down her spine.

God, literally, he hardly had to touch her these days and her whole body was on alert.

It was fantastic and embarrassing and uncontrollable.

And right now he was in just the right alignment to reach the perfect, vulnerable, sensitive spot where her pulse beat.

Damn him for knowing her body so well.

"I guess we should have at least suspected something." Greg sighed.

Warrick was smiling shaking his head again.

Nick stepped forward and slapped Greg jovially on the shoulder.

"Awww, man we all know you're just sore to find even more proof that she's never going to want you back!"

She watched Greg's head loll, his face slumping forwards, chin to chest, in mock defeat.

Poor Greggo.

Maybe in another lifetime!

But she was more than happy right now.

Gil's lips were making pretty patterns on her throat, spiralling, hot, raising tingling goose bumps.

Her own lips had fallen open in a conscious effort to suck in more air, but still remain as quiet as she could.

Her mind was suddenly humming.

The tiny room around her slowly starting to spin as his arms tightened and she felt the first searing swipe of his tongue against her flesh weaken her knees.

His touch too enticing for her to consider the consequences just yet.

They were just harmless little kisses.

Just a little something to pass the time.

But the divides between reality and fantasy started to blur dangerously when he sucked low and hot on her thumping pulse and the throb that tension created plunged downwards, achingly, a warming fire, her head tilting back to lean against his broad supporting shoulder.

Her mouth falling open wider in a silent moan.

Okay, so maybe harmless wasn't the word.

His warm, rough fingertips had found their way under the edge of her cotton tank top, were brushing teasingly over the ticklish skin of her sides.

Oh God this was getting way out of control and she was damned if she was going to stop him now.

This was, after all, what their call out tonight had interrupted.

It seemed only fair that they got something back!

o0o0o0o0o0o

Oh God there was literally no way to get out of this.

She was definitely going to kill him.

He had recognised his faulty judgement the moment Nick stepped into view.

Followed closely by Greg and Warrick.

Which in turn had also been followed closely by the cool swell of relief in the pit of his stomach which had spread out and dowsed the fire of fight or flight adrenaline beating in his veins.

Oh, it was going to take some pretty fancy forks to dig himself out of this hole.

But God help him, it was funny.

And before he could prevent it his chest was suddenly shaking uncontrollably as he tried not to give voice to the laughter bubbling up within him and give up their more than compromising position.

But he had to stay quiet.

And pretend that she wasn't going to kick his ass for the macho man stunt he'd just pulled as soon as they got out of here.

But if he thought she was going to kill him now, heaven help him if any of the three men before him figured out just where he and Sara had vanished to.

They were hiding.

Hiding from their colleagues.

Yeah, this was a new all time low!

But he had a much more pressing issue; if he didn't get to laugh soon his chest was going to explode.

These closet walls felt like they were closing in on him.

The space confined, the temperature rising, spiralling higher.

He closed his eyes tightly.

Tying to think of something calming, something to distract him from his situation and the desperate urge he felt to laugh out loud.

To jump out of the closet and yell '_Surprise_!' Or '_Some damn CSI's you all are_!' Or even, '_We're behind you_!'

Yet as soon as his lids closed his mind was right back in their living room with Sara pinned between him and the chill of the wall, her hips rocking, her lips sucking, their hearts pounding.

The interruption of Catherine's call had cut him off high and dry.

No relief for Little Gilbert.

And now here he was, trapped in sexual purgatory, bare millimetres from the woman of his daydreams, with no place to go and it was entirely fault.

His grin spread.

Oh well, if she was going to kill him anyway, he might as well enjoy it!

The temptation of Sara, trapped here with him, was so acute it was very nearly painful.

He could smell her.

Sara scent, it always heightened his awareness of her.

There was no proof that humans secreted pheromones to entice the opposite sex, and as a scientist he knew he should believe that.

But when it came to Sara…

That scent had always called to him, sweet and light, but muskier too.

Had drawn him in, right from the first moment she had leaned close, all those years ago.

Lost in the bubble of memory he recalled her arm brushing his, an errant curl catching his cheek as they had peered down at a diagram displayed before them.

The wave of sweetness the movement had wafted his way.

Alerting him to the woman surrounding that intriguing brain.

A young thing, all long legs, barely restrained curly ponytail and vulnerable eyes.

Certainly not the embodiment of the woman he had envisaged spending the rest of his life with.

But that sweetness, that kindness, that amazing brain of hers.

That smile.

And there was something so ephemeral and alluring about her scent.

Something that enticed pursuit.

It had somehow weaved into his brain, threaded into his body, tangled with his growing affection for her.

Something that still drew him to be close to her.

That encouraged him to breathe in nice and deep when he got the opportunity to nuzzle into the warm shelter of the curving arch of her neck.

Vanilla was the closest he had ever come to identifying it.

It was an almost perfect description.

Sweet, valuable, but also technically a spice.

But Sara's scent was a transient aroma, sometimes as changeable as she.

Sometimes saccharine and faint, sometimes musky, alluring and deep.

And more recently, as their intimate relationship had developed, he had sometimes felt drugged by the very scent of her.

Lured in.

Tempted by the elusive nature of it.

Sara's siren scent!

Noticing the new subtle differences, the changing nuances of it.

The way arousal heated the scent, ebbing off her in waves of desire.

Richer, spicier, deeper, more mature, as if it was in someway altered by her intimacies with him.

Oh god, those weren't the thoughts to have right now.

Not with her in such intense proximity.

Far too tempting.

In the bedroom before them the guys were still talking, but most of the words were sailing easily over his head.

He was tuning them out to focus on the lovely warmth of the woman before him.

He had lowered his head instinctively to smother his laughter and his nose had insinuated into the graceful curve of her neck.

The scent was even more potent there, and he'd nuzzled against her.

Then he'd heard Greg point out how much Sara clearly adored him.

And luckily, him meant Grissom, not him: Greg.

In response he had slipped his arms back around her. Drawing her even closer. Just wanting her nearer.

Then Greg had revealed that no one had been insensible of just how special Sara was to him, either.

Again, Grissom: him, not Greg: him.

Damn, when had he become so possessive?

When she beamed up at you and said, 'yes' that little pleasantly niggling voice in his head piped up.

And he had given into the temptation to press a light kiss to her skin.

Unable to let that comment slide without affirmation of its many truths.

She was special to him, more than he could ever express.

But one kiss hadn't been enough.

One taste never was.

One kiss had blurred into two, then three and then they had peppered sweetly against her skin, as he'd felt her squirm just a little beneath his ministrations.

His fingers finding their way under the soft ribbed cotton of her tank top. Stroking tauntingly against her soft, ticklish and sensitive torso making her squirm.

And there was nothing she could do about it!

The guys were still talking outside their little enclosure.

He had to wonder, and at the same time be thankful, that not one of the three had had the foresight to try either his or Sara's cell.

Now ithat/i would be funny.

He heard Nick's voice through the haze of stroking her skin.

Wondering how he and Sara had got together. Wondering what their relationship was like.

He even felt Sara fight a giggle as Greg suggested that maybe they talked bugs in bed.

Someone cleared their throat, Warrick he thought, as he was the next to speak.

"Aw, come on, this conversations not right, we shouldn't be talking about them like this."

Good man.

But the other two carried on regardless.

"I don't know about bugs in bed," Nick said with a smirk, "But you've got to wonder if Sara isn't a little bit… vanilla for Griss?"

Beneath his touch and his lips she froze.

"What?" Greg was laughing.

She was like a statue in his arms.

Well and truly at her breaking point with this whole intrusion thing no doubt.

And he couldn't blame her.

It could go either way from here; he could either let her out of his arms screaming and wild, or try and distract her enough that she didn't hear the words anymore.

"Well come on, Grissom's a pretty unconventional guy, he's gotta be at least a little bit… you know…"

Greg was really laughing now, "Oh come on, vanilla? No way. Sara's a wild cat no question! If anyone is vanilla it's Grissom."

Greg was nodding his head like he knew all the answers.

If he carried on like this Sara would really swing for him. And he was just about ready to let her.

It looked like a thorough distracting was in order.

And punishment. Jovially meant or not these three, well on Warrick he was still undecided, but the other two… they were getting the worst assignments he could throw at them. Three months minimum.

"Wild cat?!" Nick had the balls to question. "You sure that isn't just a projection of your geek boy fantasies Greggo?"

Greg tutted and began counting out on his fingers. "Feisty, prickly, temper like that… oh she's a wild one!"

Nick groaned, and admitted, "Yeah, well, either way Grissom's a lucky bastard. Snagging a woman fifteen years his junior, if I can pull that off at his age I could die happy."

"Yeah, but stiffs might find it less difficult to get it up!" Greg threw out, then laughed.

"Aww, now this conversation is even freaking me out!" Nick groaned again.

In his arms Sara was shuddering with tension. For a moment he thought it was in anger.

He intensified his distracting ambush.

Continuing to bestow hot sweet kisses, his hands gliding up her torso, stroking her ribcage, dancing higher and higher, and then he'd been the one shuddering in delighted surprise when sliding one tempting finger up between her breasts he hadn't made contact with a bra.

Oh God, she wasn't wearing one.

If he'd known that earlier he'd have probably lost his mind!

But his caresses didn't seem to be working.

She was still throbbing with tension.

She was going to slaughter these guys.

And really he wouldn't have blamed her.

But then she was moving more, literally shaking and he suddenly got it.

He huffed himself struck by shock and surprise.

She was bloody laughing!

She was laughing!

But he couldn't be sure if it was because their relationship was so mind bogglingly interesting to their colleagues?

Or if it was in honour of her newly revealed 'wild cat' status?

Or if she was laughing at the idea that the guys thought he might not be able to get it up?

Yeah, that one sounded a lot more like the Sara Sidle he knew!!

But either way, laughter was a hell of a lot better than anger.

And as for that last one, with a tilt of his hips he pressed himself more fully against the sensuous curve of her behind.

Letting her know just what even gently caressing her did to him.

Struggle to get it up?!

Fat chance!

It was more the case of keeping it down lately!

And he knew she knew that already, but the wounded little boy ego inside him just had to reinforce it.

He felt her stiffen a moment as they came into more intimate contact, and then she relaxed with a faint sigh and pressed back against him turning her face into his, rubbing cheek against cheek.

Slowly they picked up a rhythm.

Instinctive and natural, in a completely unnatural situation.

Nudging his knee against the back of one of hers to encourage her to open her legs a little, to solidify her stance, of course!

Through the newly fogged sexual haze, which had descended on his brain, he heard Warrick speak again.

"All I can tell you is that I've never seen either of them happier and that's all I care about. Griss is a good guy and he loves her, who couldn't love Sara with that huge heart of hers. Any guy would be lucky to get the chance to be with her."

In his arms Sara sighed lightly, and he couldn't be sure if it was induced by the way he pressed his palm to the place were her heart beat lovely and warm against her skin, or if she had heard Warrick's beautiful and astute compliment.

But it didn't matter. She sounded happy either way.

The others were making noises of truth in response to Warrick's words, and then came the magical sound of their footsteps and voices slowly fading away as they left the bedroom, headed off out of the house.

o0o0o0o0o0o

"Griss," she began softly, but the sound slid into a gasp as he deftly tingled his fingers higher under the soft of her tank top, and captured her breast in one palm, his huge thumb flicking tauntingly across the sensitive nipple.

She was suddenly humming again, her hips picking up their rocking motion, her back arching, offering her flesh into his touch.

Then after a few more stolen gasps of air she tried again, "Griss," her breathing was speeding up to a pant, as his fingers began to roam more freely. "I think they've gone."

"Good," he growled, his voice shocking her, suddenly loud and animal, rough and wild.

With one quick flick of his wrist, the buttons on her jeans were open, and his fingers were there.

Diving into the soft scrap of underwear she wore, one thick finger swiping deep into the honeyed heat he found beneath.

Her whole body jumped in lightening surprise.

The noise she made feral and fabulous.

Her hands flailing wildly as his thick fingertip swiped sharply again over her beating clit and her hips surged as the pleasure arched.

It was just too much.

Her hands slammed down on his. Halting the motion.

Both of them hovered there, dizzy and panting.

Frozen in the moment, oblivious to anything but their lust and desire and the beat of their hearts.

Hovering there, their pleasure so acute it bordered on painful.

In the end it was her who moved first, giving into her bodies frantic straining; the primitive part of her mind catching up and realising there was no way she was giving this up now.

However wrong it was.

Her vice grip loosened slightly on his hand, she then found herself guiding him, urging him to be gentle.

Groaning tenderly, as his strokes picked up rhythm, turning her face into his neck, the heat in her cheeks burning her skin.

God, she could literally feel each ridge of his fingerprint coaxing her nerve endings to fire.

The rocking throb of him behind her encouraging her to press back harder.

Swaying in his arms, only his tight grip about her waist holding her upright.

Her head fell forward.

Her eyes lulling closed as she got closer and closer.

He was nudging the hair away from the back of her neck.

Kisses peppering her skin again, she could smell herself in the air and that was only making her hotter.

They could get caught at any moment and the thrill was delirious.

She was teetering on the very edge. Ready to fall, desperate to fall.

His motions had sped up, in perfect counterbalance to the cringes of her belly he must be able to feel under his arm.

Then suddenly she felt it.

The sizzling wet stroke of the flat of his tongue, right up the back of her neck, searing over the bumps of her spine.

Hot, wet and dangerously erotic.

And she was falling.

Exploding.

Blissful and intense sweetness waving over her belly, her clit throbbing beneath his still coaxing fingertip, her knees giving out with the force of it.

Then she was slumping, heart still racing and if it hadn't been for his arms holding her in place she'd most likely have fallen headfirst through the doors into a heap on the victims bedroom floor.

Then his words made her insides throb all over again.

A gravelly whispered, hot and aching against the shell of her ear, "God, if they only knew!"

o0o0o0o0o0o

It was a good few moments before he could get her moving again.

He'd offered her the Kleenex in his pocket, and she'd dazedly taken it.

Blinking at him slowly like a stunned doe.

Who had on unsteady legs tottered after him back out into the bedroom.

Who had watched him, still too stunned to think fully for herself, as he gathered up their kits and the already bagged evidence.

If he had been able to offer her an elbow it might have been easier to get her to head out in the direction of their car, but he had his hands full managing both of their kits and all the rest.

She was just blinking back at him, still lost, probably still floating on a wave of sweet and pleasurable aftershocks.

Whereas he was still standing at full attention.

Even after feeling her fall like that in his arms he had been able to control himself.

Thankfully, because however much it pained him to admit it, he may have no problems getting it up, as Greg so eloquently put it, but his recovery time was still sadly that of the average fifty-year-old male.

Moving hesitantly to the bedroom door, making sure she stayed on his heels, he peered out carefully, head swinging left to right.

Coast was clear.

Out they stepped.

Down the hallway corridor, thanking whoever had designed this house that it had only one level, into the kitchen, the back door in their sights.

"Hey Griss, Sara! Where you guys been man! We looked all over for you!"

Nick. Again.

Both froze in place, their backs to him.

Lie.

It was the only way out.

Deep breath and lie your arse off Gilbert.

"Oh we were just in the bathroom, Sara's been feeling a little unwell."

He turned to face his colleague, his forensic kit strategically positioned to hide the real reason for his impatience.

In his peripheral vision he saw her eyes finally flit to his and meet his gaze, whether it was because he'd used her name, or because he'd lied he couldn't tell.

He watched as Nick's caring palm came down on Sara's shoulder as he commiserated with her.

Nick didn't seem at all suspicious about Grissom's claims of her feeling unwell.

He could obviously lie better than he thought!

"Nick, if you could take this evidence back to the Lab, and ask Greg to finish up processing the bedroom, I'd like to take Sara home."

"Sure," came the jovial Southern reply, completely oblivious to the fact that he was currently being had!

"Feel better Sara," Nick wished with a small smile.

And then they were moving again and free and tumbling out of the house into the warm Vegas night exhilaration bubbling inside of them!

And he started to count down.

The closer they got to the relative shade and dark near their SUV the quicker the seconds passed.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1…

"I can't believe you just did that!"

Her words were a harsh whisper, accusatory and full of incredulous laughter!

"I can't believe we both did that!"

She was shaking her head.

Her eyes alive and with him again now.

"You just had to prove Catherine Willows wrong didn't you. You just had to show those guys we weren't tame in bed."

It took all of two seconds, but then the forensics cases were at his feet and he'd pinned her against the cold door of the car and was kissing the words out of her.

His still straining body beating out his desire against the feminine curve of her belly.

It was the only way to shut her up.

Kiss the words right out of her.

Then she was breaking the suction of his lips, gasping out into the darkened sky.

"Home," she growled and he had no problems with that!

o0o0o0o0o0o

She had somehow managed to stumble to the other side of the car.

Falling into the comfort of the curved passenger seat.

Letting it support her, all shaking limbs, flustered mind and flushed cheeks.

Her head still spinning, at his actions, at his lies and his hungry kisses.

He'd told the guys that she was feeling sick.

Glancing up at the small rectangle of glittering mirror in the SUV's sunshade visor she suddenly saw why they had accepted Grissom's explanation for her weird behaviour.

God, she looked a helpless state.

Her hair was mussed and wild, beyond her usual mass of curls.

Her cheeks were flushed, the light fluttering of freckles across her nose fading into the warm rosy glow.

And her eyes.

God she looked like she'd just woken up, or worked a three day shift, or been enjoying a thoroughly good seeing too.

The woman looking back at her was sleepy, sated, dazed, her eyes glittering and wild.

Oh God!

If they didn't at least suspect that something had been going on with her and Grissom back at that crime scene, then they weren't the CSI's she thought they were!

Oh and throwing in Grissom's comment about her feeling sick!

It was no wonder they had all looked worried for her.

Sickness, her newly revealed relationship with Grissom, the overzealous protective thing he'd had going back there.

Oh God. They were going to put two and two together and come up with five.

Number 5 being P.R.E.G.N.A.N.T!

She wouldn't be surprised if she didn't end up with gifts of a maternal inclination the next time she went to the lab.

Geek baby!

Heaven forbid!

But she still couldn't believe that he had done that. That she had let him do that!

It was the perfect way to get both of them fired!

She had never been so unprofessional in her entire life!

But it had been fantastic!

And now she sat there grinning at him like an idiot as he gleefully waived every single rule of the road, racing like he had a lead foot in the direction of their house.

And he had the nerve to call her on her reckless driving!

But the tension rolling through his body was ruling the roost right now.

His usually comfortably loose trousers were straining tightly across his pelvis, as he tried desperately to drive in a straight line.

Her fingers twitched as bad, very bad, thoughts flickered through her brain.

He jerked as her light touch landed on his thigh.

She felt the muscles bunch and flex under her fingers.

Then she slid them higher.

And higher.

And higher.

All while gazing calmly out the passenger side window at the world racing by.

Then his hand had slammed down on hers, pinning her fingers just south of where they wanted to be.

"My Dear, if you don't stop that you're going to kill us both."

o0o0o0o0o0o

The door had only clicked closed what seemed like half a second before she found herself pinned against it.

Man, he had a thing about this position.

Her fiancée.

HER fiancée!

Hot, male skin. Not a breath of air between them.

Home, they were home!

His tongue dove into her mouth. Stroking and searing, swirling intimately with hers.

Thrusting and parrying in rhythm with the rock of his hips.

"No… No!" he broke into their kisses.

"Bedroom." He insisted, gasping harshly.

"Why?" She whined. Perfectly happy to be taken right where she stood!

"Just trust me." He tried to soothe, attempted to coax.

"But the last time I did that I got stung!"

Cheeky! He'd have to see to that!

With a growl that thrilled her already thumping insides she was tight in his arms and being hauled in the direction of their bedroom.

Sleepy, Hank eyed this new game from his bed.

Then lowered his head back to the cushion.

It was another one of those games from earlier.

The kind where they tended to slam his nose in the bedroom door.

He watched as they wrestled each other out of their clothes, the items littering their pathway.

No, this wasn't worth getting up for. They never let him play anyway.

Grissom dumped Sara on the bed, tumbling after her, hearing her laughter rumble.

Their bedroom was dark and secluded, definitely the most intimate room in their home.

Leaving her to wonder what he was up to he leant over the edge of the bed rooting around for the item he had hidden there earlier, his fingers skimming the darkness.

Trying not to be distracted by the way her fingers gravitated to his backside, sliding temptingly over the cheeks.

He came across a small domed box.

No, not that one.

Got it.

He lifted out his prize with a gleam in his eyes, her fingers sliding away as he turned when she could no longer reach.

She eyed him, his glee, and the small brown bag in his hands with open suspicion.

It was a gourmet food bag, but with Grissom that didn't always mean it was food.

With a chuckle he guided her back down to the bed, easing her to lie down on her back, sliding one of his legs over hers to loom astride her on hands and knees.

Leaning closer he breathed her in, releasing the breath with a deep sigh.

"Vanilla," he murmured. "You always smell like vanilla."

He nuzzled the flesh between her bare and smooth breasts making her squirm, breathing her in again.

She laughed softly.

Suddenly shy.

He'd seen her bare hundreds of times, but there was always something in the look in his eyes, the appreciation in the deep blue, which made her feel like each time was the first.

"Do you know where vanilla comes from Sara?" He asked, tilting his head, drawing her attention back to him.

She laughed softly. Only he could get away with a scientific lesson in bed.

"It comes from the Tlilxochitl vine," she bit back more laughter, only betraying it as a sweet indulgent smile, as he calmly pronounced the word, as if she really cared about plants right now!

"which produces the vanilla orchid. That orchid is then pollinated by a special kind of bee, the Melipona Bee, native only to Mesoamerica."

She nodded to show willing, aching to reach out and silence him with a kiss, just like he had done to her earlier, but she had a sneaking suspicion he was going somewhere with this.

Oh God he better be!

"Sara," his voice grew more serious, he leaned closer. "Everytime I see a bee, I think of you. I think of your scent, I think of how happy you make me. I think of the look on your face when you said yes. I don't care if you're a wild cat, if you're vanilla, or spicy. You are everything to me."

His voice was so soft now, his cheeks aflame.

She could feel her own eyes glittering with tears, suddenly ambushed by the raw emotion in his eyes.

In another quick move he was leaning over the side of the bed again, fingers scrambling for the item he had left behind before.

Then he righted himself, little box clasped tight in his fist.

He took a breath, his eyes meeting hers.

"Sara, will you marry me?"

"Yes!" She didn't have to think. Even the second time.

The word just tumbled out of her mouth and she was kissing him again.

Then distracted from his lips by his movement, he was sliding something cool and new on the third finger of her left hand.

She drew back from him, bringing her fingers into view.

Her eyes rising to his in surprise.

It was beautiful, simple and plain, but glittery and perfect.

"You don't have to wear it or anything," He was whispering, "I just wanted you to have it."

Then she was wrapping her arms about him again, whispering 'I love you,' over and over into his ear, his hair, his neck, the warmth of his naked body against hers delicious and tempting.

Hearing him return it too, the words no longer sounding nervous from his lips, as he held her tighter, their bodies instinctively rubbing together, eager to be joined.

Then her curiosity grew too intense, she slowed their kisses, she gently drew away, and looked pointedly at the small paper bag and then back at him.

"So… what's in the bag?" her eyebrows twitched and his rose too!

Reaching over he secured the thin handles, before she could.

Then from the bag he drew a shiny glass jar of honey.

Her eyes flicked to his challengingly.

"Thought it was appropriate." He grinned.

Then his voice took on a whole other darker, more sensual nuance.

"Lie down."

And she did. Anticipation suddenly thrilling through her veins again. Changing the sweet emotion of his renewed proposal by washing it in warm licking waves of arousal.

She waited. Enjoying the way his body brushed against hers, descending thrills as he crawled over her once more, sliding the lid off the jar at the same time.

She could smell the sweetness of it already.

Her mouth watering at the idea of it, the memory of the taste of it, the look in his eyes as he withdrew the small wooden stick with the little beehive carved into it from the jar laden with the glimmering golden syrup.

Then he was lifting it, spiralling the stick between his fingers, watching as the long tendrils slid towards her skin.

She groaned when the chill of it made contact.

"Stay still," he commanded. Hearing her whimper in response.

Goose bumps raising the hair on her arms and peaking her nipples.

He trailed the honey down the centre of her body, between her breasts, pooling in her belly button. Over her nipples, down the sensitive sides of her torso, watching her squirm.

Dripping the last of the scoop over her lips, eyes daring her to lick it off.

But she restrained herself.

Then he raised his hand, returning the wood to the jar, dipping into the silky liquid again, before returning it to taunt her.

Amusing himself by doodling on her skin with it.

Tickling the freckles smattered across her breasts.

Drawing a lovely big heart shape over her stomach.

Dripping out his initials and hers into the centre.

She had to laugh at him then, but he was smiling too, and then with the patience of a saint he carefully returned the instrument to the jar and placed it onto the table by the bed.

Then he hovered over her.

Looking down.

Making them both wait.

His lips a hairsbreadth from hers.

She could feel the heat of his breath.

Then his tongue was slipping from between his lips, flicking out once, brushing against her upper lip feather-light and then gone again.

She whimpered.

But he kept doing it, light flicks, tempting himself, tempting her.

Then with a groan he kissed her fully, sharing the treat with her.

His tongue then pulling back to trace the outer circle of her lips, leaving the sensitive flesh tingling it its wake.

His arms straining to support him above her and not ruin the masterpiece scrawled across the rest of her body, not just yet!

Then he was crawling backwards, slowly but surely, following the trail down between her breasts, his ears brushing against the inner curves, as his lips lightly skimmed this way and that, always making sure to leave her wanting.

Groaning in frustration.

A kiss to the beat of her heart.

Pounding fast against her ribcage.

Sliding lower to breathe hot air against the honey filled hollow of her belly button, making her squirm wild before he opened his mouth over the dimple. Creating hungry suction, then swiped his tongue through the collected sweetness.

Beneath him she shuddered, arching towards his body, the heart and initials on her stomach smearing against his nose and forehead as she writhed.

Then he was moving again, sliding higher, to swipe at each nipple, the stroke of his lips hot and wet, before suckling hard, pleased at the way her hands fisted the bed sheets.

The noises currently escaping her throat, hungry and intimate.

Then leaving her nipples deliciously sensitive in his wake he slid back down, gently easing her thighs apart with suddenly trembling fingers.

At the first swipe of his rough flat tongue to her natural honey she cried out.

Surprising even herself, the sensation of it levitating her hips, arching her back, bringing tears to her eyes.

He hummed in response, his lips vibrating around her captured clit, before he applied hungry suction, bumping the pleasure higher and higher as she squirmed and growled.

She couldn't stand his onslaught for long before she was clawing frantically at his broad shoulders, urging him back up.

Her lips impatiently capturing his for a desperate kiss, tasting honey and her and him combined.

Feeling the shudders of tension, pleasure and restraint, which thundered through his flesh.

"Turn over," she whispered, her voice not her own.

He took a moment or two to process her meaning, his mind spinning, his focus on the warm beat between his thighs and how he could ease it.

How great it will be to ease it.

Then he was on his back.

And her lips were on him, sliding across flesh, mimicking his exploration of her, sucking honey from his nose, his forehead, his stomach.

Her nails scratching teasingly over his nipples.

His eyes closed as the sensations reeled through him.

But he howled, eyes flying open, when her hot mouth captured the head of him by surprise and she began sucking eagerly. She caught him so violently off guard he almost bounced them both off the bed.

His heart roaring in his chest, his brain fragmenting to pieces at the swipe of her tongue.

He could endure her attention only seconds more, the image of her, doing that burned into his brain, before he grasped her head, easing her lips away, his eyes pleading for mercy.

Then she had been winding her graceful, sleek limbs all around him, keeping him tight and close.

Their lips meeting again, drawn back for taste after taste.

The ache in their bodies strumming and wonderful.

Eyes open whilst they kissed, drowning in what they saw reflected back.

Then it was finally happening.

The smooth tip of him sliding home into her silken heat.

Their bodies gliding together. Friction and motion and yearning desire.

The feel of the smeared honey between their bodies, sticky and sweet, mixing with the musky sweat of their combined exertions.

The smells of warmed vanilla, honey and sex clinging to the air around them.

Their gasps and groans spilling out, dancing together in a wicked sounding symphony.

His mouth sucking her neck, her teeth tugging the lobe of his ear.

His fingers playing her nipples, hearing her deep and stirring delighted groans as her fingers clasped frantically at his backside, their rhythm slipping as their need grew.

Then he was tensing up, desperate to hold on for her sake.

Sliding a finger, slick with honey and her, between their bodies to aid her.

And then moments later the pleasure was bursting between them.

Ringing in their ears, bringing tears of bliss to their eyes, sending tremors the entire lengths of their bodies, from curled toes to their brushing noses.

Their gazes held, watching the storms of release play out in one another's eyes.

Never having felt better, or safer, or more loved in their entire existence.

o0o0o0o0o0o

It took them a while to come round.

Took her even longer than him.

But then she'd been the one stuck working a double shift.

He'd had to nudge her awake to be able to gently clean the mess of sticky sweet honey from her skin, with the warm wet washcloth.

She had watched him with lazy eyes, barely open more than slits.

Watched as he cleaned himself off too.

Groaned like anything as he had manhandled her about, all rag doll limbs, as he changed the bed linens.

But he liked that groan. And there was no way he was sleeping in those messy sheets.

Tasks completed he had slid back into bed, curling up close.

Her eyes had lulled closed again as he had encircled her, spooning her to his body, smiling down at the way the dawning light glittered off her new ring.

The sheer wonder of the possibilities that lay before them.

"Was it worth the wait?" he murmured, nuzzling his nose into her hair, his lips to her ear.

She stirred, humming in approval.

Humming again.

Humming.

It wasn't quite singing in the Lab again, or anything like that, but it was a good step on the way to getting back there.


End file.
